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My primary ranting can be contained within.
Edit: My secondary ranting, I shall save for here in order to avoid tainting this thread with my venom.
The fan girl has returned....yet again...this week.
The Fine Art of Deflection
Me: “Good evening, <client>.
FG: “HELLO GRAVEKEEPER?!”
Me: “Oh! I’m sorry, you know what? It’s quarter after one which means of course that it’s Peanut Butter Jelly Time. So I’ll have to put you on hold.”
Coworker: ".....hah....ahhahahahahah"
Me: "What? It is."
I don't need another one, thanks.
SC: “Fine, I’ll have to call back later than. But they’ll be a hot time to pay tomorrow!”
….are you threatening me or propositioning me? Because in all honesty, I’m not really ready for another committed fridge licking sociopathix stalker caller relationship. I’m still on the rebound from my last you thank you very much. I’m sure you’re a very lovely girl with a fine dated and cataloged collection of your neighbour’s body hair that you sniff daily and have listed on ebay. But right now I really just need some space….and entry into the witness protection program. But mainly space.
<shrug>
Me: “Ok, I can get you a room at <hotel> for $50”
SC: “What kind of hotel is that?”
…..I don’t know? Beige? You’re going to have to give me some context if you want me to present you with any kind of answer. Are you simply looking for a star rating? Or are you seeking the answer to a more complex inquiry such as the average nefarious scallywag per block density of the surrounding area? Do you need to know what particular colour and pattern of sheets they have due to some inherent fear of flower print? Are you wondering if it has a resident Godless black swarm beneath its sheets? Work with me here.
Of course, to be honest, I really do have very little info. But, I can confident tell you three things: It has something you can lay down on be it a bed, air mattress or straw, it has a roof over your head and there is a distinct possibility of pay per view Wrestlemania.
Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.
Patience is a Virtue
Me: “Ok, I’ll have to have the local guy contact you during business hours.”
SC: “Ok, I’ll wait.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “………”
Me: “…….hello?”
SC: “………”
Maybe I should have been more specific and told him by phone. I think he may have just put the phone down, grabbed a lawn chair and a beer and wandered outside onto the front lawn to await our arrival in his boxers.
Unfortunately, his only hope at this point is if one of their service trucks foolishly drives through his neighbourhood. Though I doubt it would stop. I know I wouldn’t if some hairy guy in his boxers came flying at me from his front lawn yelling “I’ve been waiting for you! FOR YOOOOOUUU~”.
I Would So Shop There
The girls behind me on the Skytrain this evening were discussing a “+4 gas station”. Which both confused and intrigued me. As I immediately envisioned a gas station that granted +4 to my damage and to-hit rolls. Because I mean I would totally shop there if that were the case. But sadly they seemed to be talking about some sort air miles thing instead. Which was much less exciting.
H8.
Me: “and your last name please?”
SC: “Aden”
Me: "A-D-E-N?"
SC: “B-E-N.”
Me: “B-E-N?”
SC: “D-E-N”
Me: “D as in David?”
SC: “No, A-D-E-N.”
Me: “D-E-N? Ok, is it D as in David or B as in Bob?
SC: “B-E-N-“
Have I yet mentioned today how much I loathe the invention of the speaker phone? It is the Road Runner to my Wile Coyote. The Lady Astor to my Winston Churchill. The transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water to my vast, cool, unsympathetic intellect.
The Path
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx…..wait, sorry. Uhh…”
Me: “……?”
SC: “Uhhh…..uh….I don’t know which one to give you.”
Me: “……..”
SC: “There are two different numbers here.”
…two? By the stark confusion I was envisioning at a full sheet worth of unlabeled contact numbers posted near the wall. But two? That’s only a 50/50 chance, bucko. It shouldn’t be this difficult a decision. Seriously, look. Just give me both of them. I’ll give them both to the tech and he’ll get through one way or another, ok?
SC: “One is our line for customer orders, the other is for the office here.”
Right….young padawan. Listen for a moment. My years and wisdom are vast and much beyond your own. Though, in all fairness, so are those of a fridge magnet. Never the less, let me pose to you a question. One that will guide you down the path towards enlighten should you overcome it: Do you want a tech to call back and fix your system or do you want a tech to call back and order take out?
Think carefully, child. If you can overcome this dilemma, the wisdom will be yours.
These Things Cost Money
SC: “Can I get someone out to fix a window on a high rise apartment?”
Me: “Ok, well just to let you know the rate at this time of night is $xx / hour”
SC: “Oh, well forget it than.”
Yes, surprisingly, emergency service at 4am costs money. Especially if you want him dangling out in the cold 20 stories up on your balcony.
Deja Vu
SC: “Yeah hi, how fast and how much would be to get someone out to fix a window on a high rise?”
Oh, hello again. Did I not just speak with you 5 minutes ago? Have you forgotten already? A shame really, since if you had remembered than you could brace yourself for the following disappointment.
Me: “Ok, well just to let you know the rate at this time of night is $xx / hour”
SC: “Oh…er..…..hmm…how fast could he get here?”
Me: “I couldn’t give you an ETA right away, honestly. As it depends on where you are in relation to where the on call lives-“
SC: “Fine, forget it than. <mutter> Can’t even give me a damn ETA! <click>”
You’re asking me to estimate how long it will take to drive from unknown point A, the on call’s house, to unknown point B, where ever the hell you are? You seem to be overestimating my capabilities here. I am not the Google Maps Whisperer. You cannot simply give me any two points on Earth from which I shall plot a course for you within seconds as well as point out any interesting photographs, Wikipedia entries or guys whizzing on things on the side of the road between both points.
Oh for-
SC: “Yeah hi, how fast and how much would be to get someone out to fix a window on a high rise?"
…..didn’t we just have this conversation?
Me: “Didn’t I just speak with you?”
SC: “Uh….sec. Hey Jim! Did you call these guys already!?”
Jim: “Yeah!”
SC: “Oh <click>”
Apparently, Jim only owns approximately one Yellow Page.
The Fine Art of Deflection 2
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER!@?#”
Me: “Can’t talk, the British are coming.”
I must rally our defenses. Prepare the muskets! Bring the cannons round! The crazy’s coming and by God we’ll shell it to the bottom of the ocean or at the very least just put it on hold till it goes away.
The Fine Art of Deflection 3
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO@?#”
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. It seems Dr Freeman has had an accident in the test chamber and I really must go."
Oh, dear.
The Fine Art of Deflection 4
( Extreme obscure reference bonus. )
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER@?#”
Me: “Can’t talk, weasels closing in.”
They’re under my desk. No, really. A whole, er….what’s the term for a group of weasels? Weese? A waggle? Anyway, there’s a bunch of them under there and I really have to go attend to this matter post haste before they begin chewing through power cords or my shoes as my toes are delicate and cannot withstand such a rodent onslaught. You’ll have to excuse me, for their gnashing incisors are about to brutally cut down the little piggy that went to market in the prime of his youth.
P.S. It may take me at least 7 or 8 hours to resolve my rodent crisis. Please do not bother calling back until than.
Yes, I Am Talented.
Me: “Good morning, <company> are you calling about <sales spiel>?”
SC: “My God! You said that all in one sentence, didn’t you?!”
Me: “….yes?”
SC: “That was goooood.”
Well, at least he’s setting the bar for me remarkable low. Hey, you know, I can walk and chew gum at the same time too. Crazy, eh? The amount of coordination it must take should well boggle your odd little east coast mind. Yes, the ruler of accomplish is rather short in the Maritimes.
…wait, I‘m from the Maritimes. Dammit.
The Fine Art of Deflection 5
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER@?#”
Me: “If I throw a stick, will you leave?"
It’s worth a shot. Perhaps if I carved my name in it first?
First out of the Gate
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “….uh…..uhhhhh…..ummm…..”
This, my friends, is what we refer as a magnificent start.
The Fine Art of Deflection 6
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “RAWRRABBLEAPFJLDGRAVEKEEPER!?”
Me: “Ok, look. Gravekeeper doesn’t work here anymore. He left this office specifically because you would not stop calling.”
FG: “GWARASDL!?”
Me: “He’s probably half way to Mexico by now and I for one, do not blame him.”
SC: “:AHSDASJLHD$!@ <click>”
I know better than to get my hopes up at this point as I know she has the long term memory of a gold fish. But it’s worth a shot. I’ll try anything at this point. Well, almost anything. For example, I’m not about to finally surrender to her onslaught of “love” and be locked up in her basement for the next 10 years with only a pair of shorts and a daily bowl of Shreddies to tide me through the years while she yells at me through a phone receiver upstairs and wonders why I can’t hear her.
Jesus Christ, it's All TRUE
Me: “Hmm, unfortunately that item is out of stock. Was there anything else you’d like?”
Girl 1: “Ummm…hmmmm…..ehehe….ehehehehehehe…..eheeheehehehe ee!”
Me: “………?”
Girl 2: “heheh! <I hear the distinctive sound of an aerosol can followed by a loud snorting noise> HAHheheh!”
Girl 1: “Um, eheheheheh <aerosol snort> it’s out of stock!”
Me: “………”
Girl 2: “eheheheheheh <aerosol snort> uhhhh…..aahahahahah!”
….ok. Right. Now, as you know in the past I have, on many occasions I’ll admit, made the “huffing paint” joke in relation to my callers. However, it’s purely been in jest. I never actually expected to get a call from someone who was quite literally huffing paint while placing their order.
Just…wow.
Conviction
SC: “Ok, I spoke to your tech earlier and we got the network back up.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “But now I can’t log in. I’m guessing it’s because I’m incredibly inept.”
Me: “………”
SC: “There might be something wrong with the system. But I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m inept.”
Who am I to argue in the face of such conviction?
They Can Smell Fear
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~”
Me: “….pardon?”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~. Now you sing!”
Guy: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you!”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~”
Guy: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you!”
Me: “….oooookay.”
I’m just going to back away slowly now and try not to make any sudden movements.
Injustice
Tech: “Right, ready.”
Me: “Ok, the call is for Amanda at <location>.”
Tech: “Ok, whose the call for?”
Me: “Amanda at <location>.”
Tech: “<location>? Ok. Is there a contact name or something?”
Me: “Amanda.”
Yet somehow postal workers were the ones that ended up with the stereotype of just snapping one day? CSR’s got gypped on that one. I demand a recount. We deserve recognition!
Er...
Me: “Thank you for calling <company>-“
SC: “Oh, wrong number please.”
…..please? You want another wrong number? But you already have one. Look here, Mister. You’ll finish your first wrong number before you get another one, understand?
......
Me: “Thank you for calling <company>-“
SC: “Oh, wrong number still.”
Yes, yes it is. Did you expect it to magically become the right number if you dialed it again? That was your second wrong number today too, young man. No more wrong numbers for you. You’ll spoil your appetite.
Chronicles of the Beast
I must speak with you of my cat. Not because I think any of you care, but because if I don’t show up at work one night you’ll know what happened and know the course of action you should employ to save yourselves.
The other day, we actually had sunshine, and I foolishly decided to open a window. Neglecting to recall my cat’s overwhelming homicidal urges to end the life of every living being outside of my home. Within minutes I heard a dark, terrible cry from the bedroom. A cry born of rage and destruction. Cautiously, I entered the room. Only to see the silhouette of my feline compatriot 2 feet up in the window behind the blinds. Clinging to the screen and clawing, clawing away at them desperately while she gnashed her fangs trying to chew her way through the window screen to reach whomever or whatever had foolishly crossed her gaze outside.
I managed to peel her off with some effort and close the window, likely saving several lives. But still, there is no telling if it will turn on me one day. I keep its cat treats on the very top shelf of my cupboard where they cannot be reached to ensure that she always has some reason to keep me alive. But someday it may not be enough.
When that day comes, tell my mom I love her and tell the SWAT team to bring tear gas if they want to have any hope of retrieving my remains.
Halp?
This caller was calling from the deep, deep south. In what I can only call serious Freedom Fry country.
Me: "Ok, and your address please?"
SC: "It's xxx <French street name in a horribly, horribly mangled pronunciation>"
Me: "Ok, so xxx <Brain switches to French mode, perfect prounounciation due to being, well, Canadian.>"
SC: "........"
Me: "........?"
SC: "........"
Me: "......hello?"
SC: "<Really suspiciously> Yew ain't French, is ye?"
At this point, only a single thought crossed my mind and I knew fear.
annnnd rest.
Edit: My secondary ranting, I shall save for here in order to avoid tainting this thread with my venom.
The fan girl has returned....yet again...this week.
The Fine Art of Deflection
Me: “Good evening, <client>.
FG: “HELLO GRAVEKEEPER?!”
Me: “Oh! I’m sorry, you know what? It’s quarter after one which means of course that it’s Peanut Butter Jelly Time. So I’ll have to put you on hold.”
Coworker: ".....hah....ahhahahahahah"
Me: "What? It is."
I don't need another one, thanks.
SC: “Fine, I’ll have to call back later than. But they’ll be a hot time to pay tomorrow!”
….are you threatening me or propositioning me? Because in all honesty, I’m not really ready for another committed fridge licking sociopathix stalker caller relationship. I’m still on the rebound from my last you thank you very much. I’m sure you’re a very lovely girl with a fine dated and cataloged collection of your neighbour’s body hair that you sniff daily and have listed on ebay. But right now I really just need some space….and entry into the witness protection program. But mainly space.
<shrug>
Me: “Ok, I can get you a room at <hotel> for $50”
SC: “What kind of hotel is that?”
…..I don’t know? Beige? You’re going to have to give me some context if you want me to present you with any kind of answer. Are you simply looking for a star rating? Or are you seeking the answer to a more complex inquiry such as the average nefarious scallywag per block density of the surrounding area? Do you need to know what particular colour and pattern of sheets they have due to some inherent fear of flower print? Are you wondering if it has a resident Godless black swarm beneath its sheets? Work with me here.
Of course, to be honest, I really do have very little info. But, I can confident tell you three things: It has something you can lay down on be it a bed, air mattress or straw, it has a roof over your head and there is a distinct possibility of pay per view Wrestlemania.
Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.
Patience is a Virtue
Me: “Ok, I’ll have to have the local guy contact you during business hours.”
SC: “Ok, I’ll wait.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “………”
Me: “…….hello?”
SC: “………”
Maybe I should have been more specific and told him by phone. I think he may have just put the phone down, grabbed a lawn chair and a beer and wandered outside onto the front lawn to await our arrival in his boxers.
Unfortunately, his only hope at this point is if one of their service trucks foolishly drives through his neighbourhood. Though I doubt it would stop. I know I wouldn’t if some hairy guy in his boxers came flying at me from his front lawn yelling “I’ve been waiting for you! FOR YOOOOOUUU~”.
I Would So Shop There
The girls behind me on the Skytrain this evening were discussing a “+4 gas station”. Which both confused and intrigued me. As I immediately envisioned a gas station that granted +4 to my damage and to-hit rolls. Because I mean I would totally shop there if that were the case. But sadly they seemed to be talking about some sort air miles thing instead. Which was much less exciting.
H8.
Me: “and your last name please?”
SC: “Aden”
Me: "A-D-E-N?"
SC: “B-E-N.”
Me: “B-E-N?”
SC: “D-E-N”
Me: “D as in David?”
SC: “No, A-D-E-N.”
Me: “D-E-N? Ok, is it D as in David or B as in Bob?
SC: “B-E-N-“
Have I yet mentioned today how much I loathe the invention of the speaker phone? It is the Road Runner to my Wile Coyote. The Lady Astor to my Winston Churchill. The transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water to my vast, cool, unsympathetic intellect.
The Path
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx…..wait, sorry. Uhh…”
Me: “……?”
SC: “Uhhh…..uh….I don’t know which one to give you.”
Me: “……..”
SC: “There are two different numbers here.”
…two? By the stark confusion I was envisioning at a full sheet worth of unlabeled contact numbers posted near the wall. But two? That’s only a 50/50 chance, bucko. It shouldn’t be this difficult a decision. Seriously, look. Just give me both of them. I’ll give them both to the tech and he’ll get through one way or another, ok?
SC: “One is our line for customer orders, the other is for the office here.”
Right….young padawan. Listen for a moment. My years and wisdom are vast and much beyond your own. Though, in all fairness, so are those of a fridge magnet. Never the less, let me pose to you a question. One that will guide you down the path towards enlighten should you overcome it: Do you want a tech to call back and fix your system or do you want a tech to call back and order take out?
Think carefully, child. If you can overcome this dilemma, the wisdom will be yours.
These Things Cost Money
SC: “Can I get someone out to fix a window on a high rise apartment?”
Me: “Ok, well just to let you know the rate at this time of night is $xx / hour”
SC: “Oh, well forget it than.”
Yes, surprisingly, emergency service at 4am costs money. Especially if you want him dangling out in the cold 20 stories up on your balcony.
Deja Vu
SC: “Yeah hi, how fast and how much would be to get someone out to fix a window on a high rise?”
Oh, hello again. Did I not just speak with you 5 minutes ago? Have you forgotten already? A shame really, since if you had remembered than you could brace yourself for the following disappointment.
Me: “Ok, well just to let you know the rate at this time of night is $xx / hour”
SC: “Oh…er..…..hmm…how fast could he get here?”
Me: “I couldn’t give you an ETA right away, honestly. As it depends on where you are in relation to where the on call lives-“
SC: “Fine, forget it than. <mutter> Can’t even give me a damn ETA! <click>”
You’re asking me to estimate how long it will take to drive from unknown point A, the on call’s house, to unknown point B, where ever the hell you are? You seem to be overestimating my capabilities here. I am not the Google Maps Whisperer. You cannot simply give me any two points on Earth from which I shall plot a course for you within seconds as well as point out any interesting photographs, Wikipedia entries or guys whizzing on things on the side of the road between both points.
Oh for-
SC: “Yeah hi, how fast and how much would be to get someone out to fix a window on a high rise?"
…..didn’t we just have this conversation?
Me: “Didn’t I just speak with you?”
SC: “Uh….sec. Hey Jim! Did you call these guys already!?”
Jim: “Yeah!”
SC: “Oh <click>”
Apparently, Jim only owns approximately one Yellow Page.
The Fine Art of Deflection 2
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER!@?#”
Me: “Can’t talk, the British are coming.”
I must rally our defenses. Prepare the muskets! Bring the cannons round! The crazy’s coming and by God we’ll shell it to the bottom of the ocean or at the very least just put it on hold till it goes away.
The Fine Art of Deflection 3
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO@?#”
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. It seems Dr Freeman has had an accident in the test chamber and I really must go."
Oh, dear.
The Fine Art of Deflection 4
( Extreme obscure reference bonus. )
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER@?#”
Me: “Can’t talk, weasels closing in.”
They’re under my desk. No, really. A whole, er….what’s the term for a group of weasels? Weese? A waggle? Anyway, there’s a bunch of them under there and I really have to go attend to this matter post haste before they begin chewing through power cords or my shoes as my toes are delicate and cannot withstand such a rodent onslaught. You’ll have to excuse me, for their gnashing incisors are about to brutally cut down the little piggy that went to market in the prime of his youth.
P.S. It may take me at least 7 or 8 hours to resolve my rodent crisis. Please do not bother calling back until than.
Yes, I Am Talented.
Me: “Good morning, <company> are you calling about <sales spiel>?”
SC: “My God! You said that all in one sentence, didn’t you?!”
Me: “….yes?”
SC: “That was goooood.”
Well, at least he’s setting the bar for me remarkable low. Hey, you know, I can walk and chew gum at the same time too. Crazy, eh? The amount of coordination it must take should well boggle your odd little east coast mind. Yes, the ruler of accomplish is rather short in the Maritimes.
…wait, I‘m from the Maritimes. Dammit.
The Fine Art of Deflection 5
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “HELLO, GRAVEKEEPER@?#”
Me: “If I throw a stick, will you leave?"
It’s worth a shot. Perhaps if I carved my name in it first?
First out of the Gate
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “….uh…..uhhhhh…..ummm…..”
This, my friends, is what we refer as a magnificent start.
The Fine Art of Deflection 6
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
FG: “RAWRRABBLEAPFJLDGRAVEKEEPER!?”
Me: “Ok, look. Gravekeeper doesn’t work here anymore. He left this office specifically because you would not stop calling.”
FG: “GWARASDL!?”
Me: “He’s probably half way to Mexico by now and I for one, do not blame him.”
SC: “:AHSDASJLHD$!@ <click>”
I know better than to get my hopes up at this point as I know she has the long term memory of a gold fish. But it’s worth a shot. I’ll try anything at this point. Well, almost anything. For example, I’m not about to finally surrender to her onslaught of “love” and be locked up in her basement for the next 10 years with only a pair of shorts and a daily bowl of Shreddies to tide me through the years while she yells at me through a phone receiver upstairs and wonders why I can’t hear her.
Jesus Christ, it's All TRUE
Me: “Hmm, unfortunately that item is out of stock. Was there anything else you’d like?”
Girl 1: “Ummm…hmmmm…..ehehe….ehehehehehehe…..eheeheehehehe ee!”
Me: “………?”
Girl 2: “heheh! <I hear the distinctive sound of an aerosol can followed by a loud snorting noise> HAHheheh!”
Girl 1: “Um, eheheheheh <aerosol snort> it’s out of stock!”
Me: “………”
Girl 2: “eheheheheheh <aerosol snort> uhhhh…..aahahahahah!”
….ok. Right. Now, as you know in the past I have, on many occasions I’ll admit, made the “huffing paint” joke in relation to my callers. However, it’s purely been in jest. I never actually expected to get a call from someone who was quite literally huffing paint while placing their order.
Just…wow.
Conviction
SC: “Ok, I spoke to your tech earlier and we got the network back up.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “But now I can’t log in. I’m guessing it’s because I’m incredibly inept.”
Me: “………”
SC: “There might be something wrong with the system. But I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m inept.”
Who am I to argue in the face of such conviction?
They Can Smell Fear
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~”
Me: “….pardon?”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~. Now you sing!”
Guy: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you!”
Girl: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you~”
Guy: “Give a little love and it all comes back to you!”
Me: “….oooookay.”
I’m just going to back away slowly now and try not to make any sudden movements.
Injustice
Tech: “Right, ready.”
Me: “Ok, the call is for Amanda at <location>.”
Tech: “Ok, whose the call for?”
Me: “Amanda at <location>.”
Tech: “<location>? Ok. Is there a contact name or something?”
Me: “Amanda.”
Yet somehow postal workers were the ones that ended up with the stereotype of just snapping one day? CSR’s got gypped on that one. I demand a recount. We deserve recognition!
Er...
Me: “Thank you for calling <company>-“
SC: “Oh, wrong number please.”
…..please? You want another wrong number? But you already have one. Look here, Mister. You’ll finish your first wrong number before you get another one, understand?
......
Me: “Thank you for calling <company>-“
SC: “Oh, wrong number still.”
Yes, yes it is. Did you expect it to magically become the right number if you dialed it again? That was your second wrong number today too, young man. No more wrong numbers for you. You’ll spoil your appetite.
Chronicles of the Beast
I must speak with you of my cat. Not because I think any of you care, but because if I don’t show up at work one night you’ll know what happened and know the course of action you should employ to save yourselves.
The other day, we actually had sunshine, and I foolishly decided to open a window. Neglecting to recall my cat’s overwhelming homicidal urges to end the life of every living being outside of my home. Within minutes I heard a dark, terrible cry from the bedroom. A cry born of rage and destruction. Cautiously, I entered the room. Only to see the silhouette of my feline compatriot 2 feet up in the window behind the blinds. Clinging to the screen and clawing, clawing away at them desperately while she gnashed her fangs trying to chew her way through the window screen to reach whomever or whatever had foolishly crossed her gaze outside.
I managed to peel her off with some effort and close the window, likely saving several lives. But still, there is no telling if it will turn on me one day. I keep its cat treats on the very top shelf of my cupboard where they cannot be reached to ensure that she always has some reason to keep me alive. But someday it may not be enough.
When that day comes, tell my mom I love her and tell the SWAT team to bring tear gas if they want to have any hope of retrieving my remains.
Halp?
This caller was calling from the deep, deep south. In what I can only call serious Freedom Fry country.
Me: "Ok, and your address please?"
SC: "It's xxx <French street name in a horribly, horribly mangled pronunciation>"
Me: "Ok, so xxx <Brain switches to French mode, perfect prounounciation due to being, well, Canadian.>"
SC: "........"
Me: "........?"
SC: "........"
Me: "......hello?"
SC: "<Really suspiciously> Yew ain't French, is ye?"
At this point, only a single thought crossed my mind and I knew fear.
annnnd rest.
appropriate.
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